


say what's on your mind

by haloud



Series: open up my eager eyes [10]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21617080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Michael isn't exactly fond of doctors, so what does it mean that he's always calling Kyle 'Doc'?
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti
Series: open up my eager eyes [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1353715
Comments: 13
Kudos: 133





	say what's on your mind

The sun is shining, it’s Friday, Kyle’s got the day off, and Michael finishes the work he’s got at the junkyard by two in the afternoon. Sanders must get tired of him whistling and the sound of his moving stuff around the yard to get it more organized, because after about half an hour he comes out to say that if he’s gonna be “carryin’ on with that candy cane happy-ass bullshit” he can just clear out and leave the old man in peace.

So Michael’s whistling still as he gets behind the wheel and heads out to the cabin, looking forward to the extra slice of time he’s about to get with Kyle. Alex has the day off too, and he’s spending it with Liz and Maria, so Michael’s mind is all full of stupid ideas for ways he and Kyle could surprise Alex when he gets home later.

He takes the stairs in one bound and breezes inside, catching a surprised-looking Kyle in the entryway with a peck on the lips and a “Miss me, Doc?”

But the welcome he gets is…less than what he expected? Instead of tugging him in by the shirt and deepening the kiss, Kyle moves his head off to the side so when Michael tries to kiss him hello again he just catches his cheek.

Mouth tense, Kyle says, “Why do you call me that?”

“What, Doc?”

“Yeah.”

“’S what you are, isn’t it?” Michael takes a step back, curls his shoulders, shoves his hands in his pockets. Wonders if Sanders will take him back, maybe forever, because he’s fucked up somewhere and isn’t sure how.

“Yeah, but…never mind.”

A muscle jumps in the hinge of Kyle’s jaw, and Michael watches him physically force himself to relax. His hands flare out a bit. His shoulders straighten and drop. He tilts his chin slightly up, glances at the ceiling, then drops his eyes again, expression neutral. _Say it, just say it,_ Michael thinks viciously, because he may not know what he’s done wrong, but getting told no matter what is going to be better than the horrible limbo of not having any way to make it right.

“Hey,” Michael tries, unable to stay quiet in the face of all that. He sidles up closer the way Kyle can never resist, slides his hand along his flat stomach, grips his hip to tug him in closer. “Nyeh…what’s up, Doc?” he tries, grinning against his neck, fluttering his eyelashes against that delicate skin.

But Kyle stays stiff. He doesn’t even reach out to touch Michael back. Michael flutters his eyelashes again, being deliberately ticklish, hoping Kyle will actually push him off instead of standing there like a statue.

“That’s not what you mean. The joke. It doesn’t sound like a joke when you call me that.”

“I mean…it isn’t, really?” Michael draws back, putting space between them again. What is this? This version of Kyle Michael hasn’t really seen since he set aside his old grudge and set him down in Alex’s bed? What’s going on— _what_ did Michael do—wrong?

“Forget it. I’m…going for a run.”

“Hey—”

But Kyle just strides past him without another word. Michael kind of pathetically trails after him, stomping down the urge to shout like an asshole or whimper like a kicked dog, and just watches as Kyle opens the door and jogs out, letting it fall shut behind him.

* * *

Kyle gets about twenty-five yards down the road before it hits him that he might be acting like a complete tit. So, like anyone would when they need a) a reality check and b) advice about Michael Guerin, Kyle digs out his phone and calls Alex.

“Hey,” Alex answers, voice full of a warmth Kyle probably doesn’t _exactly_ deserve right now.

Still, he answers, “Hey,” fiddling with a loose string on the hem of his shirt while he searches for what to say.

“Did something happen?”

“Not really? Sort of.” Kyle winces at his own words.

“So…yes?”

“Have you noticed that Michael, like, never uses my name?”

Alex pauses. “I haven’t,” he says, “But I guess he does mostly call you Doc. Does the nickname bother you?”

“Yes!” Kyle bursts out, packing all the catharsis he can stand into one three-letter word. “But it’s not the word, it’s _him._ It’s him using it.”

It’s no pause that follows that outburst, but a long, ringing silence.

“I can’t have this conversation over the phone. I’m coming home.”

Miserable, Kyle says, “No, I can handle it. You, Liz, and Maria have been trying to get together for weeks, don’t—”

“They can make do without me for a couple hours. I’m coming home. Please be there.”

“Okay,” Kyle forces out.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah.”

The line goes dead, and Kyle hangs up too, shoves his phone roughly in his pocket before he can do something stupid like wing it off into the desert.

Fuck, he’s so fucked. Not because Alex is mad, or disappointed, not because Michael is—god, who even knows what must be going through Michael’s mind right now—but because he isn’t supposed to be doing this. Being the calm one, the supportive one, the together one—he doesn’t do it for Alex and Michael, not really, he does it because it _feels good._ Like helping, like healing, like something only he can do that makes him wanted, needed.

But sometimes when Michael looks at him with those lidded eyes and that dangerous smile and calls him _Doc,_ mouth going all soft around that last, hard sound…

Michael calls Alex _private_ sometimes, but there’s a purpose in that, usually just to rile Alex up. It’s not the same as _doc,_ not a stand in for his name. Alex laughs it off and smiles a sharklike smile and gives Michael what he’s asking for. It doesn’t sit uneasy in him like a slipped chord in the middle of a concerto.

Alex called him doc once, right after Michael did, and it didn’t feel like missing a step. He followed up some sly comment with an equally sly “ _yeah, doc,”_ and it was fine, and Kyle laughed, and kissed them both.

Today the dam just broke.

See, coming from anyone else, it’s okay. Coming from anyone else, it doesn’t _mean_ anything, except a label for what he does. But coming from Michael…

Michael, who can’t set foot inside the hospital without passing out from fear.

Michael, who startles so badly every time he sees Kyle in his coat that one time he disappeared for _days,_ coming back with bruises under his eyes and a mouthful of excuses that didn’t include being afraid of a man he’s sharing his life with.

Michael, who isn’t scared of any violence that can get done to him, unless it comes at the end of a stethoscope or a needle or an x-ray or a latex glove or a goddamn _tongue depressor._

Michael, who flutters his eyelashes at him and calls him Doc.

Like, _fuck_ , right?

Kyle shoves his hands in his hair and yanks until his eyes water. The only consolation is that Michael’s truck hasn’t passed him, so he must still be at home. Waiting for Kyle to come back? Or, if he was too mad, he might’ve gone stalking out into the desert in the opposite direction. But if that’s the case, he’ll come home for Alex. He always does, after all.

So, psyching himself up, Kyle heads back to the cabin.

* * *

Michael’s truck is in the driveway, and Kyle is on the front step with his head in his hands. With those two things accounted for, Alex lets himself breathe.

Kyle doesn’t look up at the sound of the car, or at the slam of the door as Alex gets out, or the sound of footsteps as he approaches. Alex walks right by him and takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs. Easier on his let that way than trying to get up from the stairs. And, as expected, it only takes a second for Kyle to follow his lead and take the chair beside him.

“So,” Alex says, “What is it about him?”

No sense in beating around the bush, Alex starts right where they left off. And he’s immediately gratified by the glassy distress in Kyle’s eyes even though his voice comes out perfectly steady.

“God, that was a shitty thing to say,” Kyle says, laughing a harsh, jittery laugh. “There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s just—you _know_ he doesn’t trust people. He didn’t even _start_ to trust me until we’d been together.”

It’s true. That had been one of the hardest parts of—this. Getting Michael to unravel the knots he’d tied around his memories of Kyle and give that trust room to grow.

“And I want him to. To trust me. I never thought I could feel like this for _Michael Guerin_ of all people. You make sense, but Michael, Michael—doesn’t. But here I am, and here he is, and the thought that I could be reminding him of his worst fear—that he needs to be constantly reminding himself of that fear around me…” He trails off, rubbing his palm over his heart. “What if he doesn’t trust me at all, even now?”

“I can tell you he does until I’m blue in the face. But I’m not sure you’ll believe me unless you hear it from him.”

“I’ve been too much of a coward to go in,” Kyle admits, grimacing.

“It isn’t cowardice to be afraid you’ve hurt someone you care about. It’s cowardice to keep doing it over and over again. C’mon.”

The cabin is dim inside, unlit. Michael has let it get dark all around him. His hat is still on its peg by the door. They walk to the bedroom door, slightly ajar, and Alex pushes it open. His breath stalls somewhere in his throat, so he tries again, forcing air into his lungs.

“Thank you,” Kyle murmurs, laying his hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex covers it with his own. Kyle’s hands are soft, solid. He takes care of them. He has to, in his line of work. Moisturized, manicured, and steady, so steady, no matter what he’s doing, what he’s touching. He has hands that can hold anything without it breaking.

Kyle says _thank you,_ but Alex hasn’t done anything worth gratitude, not really. Kyle doesn’t need him there to talk to Michael. But all the same, it’s gratifying to know he’s _wanted._

Inside the bedroom is even dimmer than the rest of the cabin, but in the gloom it’s easy to make out the shape of Michael in bed on his side, back to the door, knees to his chest. Alex and Kyle sigh simultaneously.

Alex’s instinct is to slide into bed beside him. To cover his back and hold him close. To curl around him and shield him from any threat that might come through the door. To put Kyle on his other side, closest to the wall, so he can protect him too. He lets Kyle take the lead, though, and Kyle walks to the bed and sits down gingerly by Michael’s head, and touches his shoulder.

“Michael?”

“Kyle.”

Kyle’s chest jumps with his next breath, and his eyes flash up to Alex’s.

“What?” Michael says. “I might be a dick, but if you don’t like the nickname, I’ll stop using it. I am capable of basic respect.”

“We…I didn’t do a very good job of not being a dick myself, earlier.”

Michael rolls a bit at that, so he can actually look at Kyle. His eyes gravitate toward Alex, too, and Alex gives him a little smile back. That’s his cue to bring himself over to the bed and perch on the end of it, so he can put his hand on Michael’s ankle, so he can be close enough for Kyle to take his hand if need be.

“I didn’t know it bothered you so much. Kyle. I’m…sorry.” Michael’s lip pops out from between his teeth on the apology, and he bites it again. His mouth seems to form Kyle’s name awkwardly, too formal, and formal isn’t usually in Michael’s wheelhouse. Alex rolls his thumb over the ball of his ankle, to soothe him, to thank him for trying.

“It’s not the nickname. Not really. It’s…what it means, I guess? What it implies? I mean…” Kyle wets his lips. “You’re not exactly a fan of doctors, Michael.”

“Hey,” Michael pushes himself into a sitting position so he can reach over and stroke Kyle’s jaw, rasp the pad of his thumb against the stubble on his cheek. His brow furrows. Alex wishes he was Isobel, not for the first time in his life, that he could reach inside that head and scoop out all the tangled-up thoughts chaining him down.

Kyle catches Michael’s wrist and holds that hand against his face, his thumb nestled in between those calloused knuckles. “You can call me a huge sap if you want, but I just…want to make you feel safe. And if you’re calling me _doc,_ I don’t think I’ve succeeded.”

“You _are_ a huge sap. Tryna make me cry, D—Valenti?”

Kyle flinches, ever so slightly, at the aborted nickname; it makes Michael flinch too, flinch forward, nearly crawling into Kyle’s lap to comfort him, to nuzzle his cheek and murmur in his ear.

“Trust you, of course I do,” he says, “You’re the only one—who else? I know you’re never gonna betray us. Not gonna betray Alex, either. Saved Isobel when you thought she was a murderer. That’s why, Kyle, ‘s where the nickname came from, because Iz was dying and you just, you were just a _doctor,_ you did everything you could for her, I’ll owe you for the rest of our lives—”

“No, I don’t want that—”

“Don’t care. You’ve got me, Valenti. Call you anything you want, McDreamy, just say the word. You aren’t the only one who worries, yeah? Gotta do my part to protect you, too.”

“Michael…”

Michael digs his forehead into Kyle’s temple, still cradling his face. His lips part, a flash of pain crossing his face; Alex crawls forward across the bed to be more beside him, more with them, to reach around Michael and put his hand on Kyle’s waist.

“When you walked out earlier…” Michael says.

Kyle’s hand tightens around his wrist. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. I was—I wasn’t brave enough to hear what you had to say about it, in case it was that you had to remind yourself of…ways I could hurt you. So I ran away instead of talking about it.”

“You came back. And it’s not like I was about to sit you down and have a real deep talk right there. So it’s okay.” Michael pauses, wets his lip. Won’t meet either of their eyes. “Thought you might not,” he says eventually.

“Hey, no, no. I never even left, okay? Not really. I got, like, twenty feet from the front door and couldn’t take another step, and I—I watched to make sure you weren’t leaving, ok, that you’d still be here where I knew you were safe—”

A little of the tension goes out of Michael at that, and it comes out in the form of a sigh, breath blown out across Kyle’s cheek.

“Gotta say I’m sorry,” he says, “before we get there again. ‘Cause I’m probably going to mess up and call you it again—”

“Do you mean it when you say you trust me?”

“Medical stuff—scalpels and hospital beds and that shit—it’s never not going to freak me out. But that’s not what I’m thinking about when I call you Doc. I’m just thinking about you. How you take care of people.”

“Okay.” He smiles, lips curling up to reveal a hint of teeth, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then I think it’ll be okay if you call me whatever you want, yeah?”

“So long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay then. Doc.” And neither of them flinch this time, the two of them meeting to kiss with Alex waiting his turn—and they don’t keep him waiting for long, turning to jockey for position. Kyle gets to him first, meets his mouth over Michael’s shoulder, murmurs _thank you_ against Alex’s lips before devouring his tongue. Then when he pulls away Michael is there, flinging his arm around Alex’s neck to hold him as close as can be.

“You holdin’ us together?” Michael asks, his eyes sparkling, a smile curving up his lush mouth.

“When I can.” Alex rubs Kyle’s waist where his hand still rests.

“Always,” Michael responds, coming in for another kiss.

Alex has to force them out of bed a little while later, even though if Michael had his way that’s where they’d be for the rest of the night and most of tomorrow morning, dinner and breakfast and cleaning up and showering and all those little things forgotten in favor of wringing all the love they can get out of each other. After the three of them have settled enough that pulling away from them doesn’t feel like ripping a bandaid off in slow-motion, Alex heads back out to meet up with Liz and Maria again, bearing all the taunting about having to dip out of their day to get laid.

And after the day is over, after Maria’s fallen asleep across his and Liz’s laps halfway through their third movie in the marathon, with Liz slumped over the arm of the couch with her phone in her hand and a tiny, happy smile, Alex stands up and stretches, gently placing Maria’s legs on the couch instead of his lap, and says his goodbyes.

When he gets home, it’s to Michael doing the dishes, watching Kyle with Buffy in the yard through the little kitchen window.

“So fuckin’ lucky it doesn’t feel real,” he mutters to the sink full of plates and pans.

And Alex crosses the kitchen straight to wrap his arms around his middle and watch Kyle toss the ball for the dog together. After a couple of minutes, Kyle looks up and notices them and waves—then he catches Buffy, hefts her up, and makes her wave too, and Alex has to bury his face in Michael’s shoulder for being too full up.

And when Kyle comes back in later on, it’s Alex’s turn to decide they need to get to bed and stay there for hours, so the vote is officially settled.


End file.
